Paradox                                                                      

I have considered myself to be a landscape photographer, focusing on the play of light and shadow. This series of interiors represents a complete departure for me.

Recently an opportunity arose to travel to North Dakota to photograph abandoned homesteads and farmhouses in the rural landscape. My expectations were that I would document these structures in their various degrees of disrepair. Upon arrival we surveyed several different structures, all either weathered white clapboard or traditional unpainted wood. Situated next to fields that had yet to be plowed or planted, together they presented a monochromatic landscape.

Upon entering one of the houses, I was taken by the color that survived within the home. Despite the fact that there had been an invasion of animals, birds and insects over the decades there remained pieces of the lives that had been lived here. Furniture left in place, clothing still hung on hooks or in a closet, dishes and kitchen appliances from ages gone by. Initially, I admit, I felt like just another invader on to the property. I had permission to be here, and had to keep reminding myself of that. It was then I could see the beauty that was left behind. The colors of the walls, a blowing curtain in a window, a carved chair. All of these had a certain stillness ad calm. Some items evoked memories of my own childhood. This was rapidly becoming a far more emotional experience than I ever imagined.

As my time in North Dakota progressed, it became a personal challenge to convey the grace of the previous lives that occupied these homes. This turned out not only to be an opportunity, but a privilege, to glimpse into some unknown persons past and the life they lived.